Exploring precarious Middle East
• Andrew Brown talks about his novel ‘The Bitterness of Olives’
Published one month before Hamas’ October 7 attack on Israel, The Bitterness of Olives could not have been more prescient. Having spent time in the occupied West Bank, east Jerusalem and the border area of Gaza, author Andrew Brown had a keen sense that the uneasy “quiet” in Palestine was soon to be shattered.
In the novel, Brown explores the complex friendship between Israeli Avi Dahan, a former detective grappling with the death of his wife in Tel Aviv, and Khalid Mansour, a Palestinian physician facing the precariousness of life in Gaza City, as political upheaval threatens their fragile camaraderie. When a scarred, unidentified body arrives in his emergency room, Khalid turns to Avi, the only person who might be able to help solve the mystery.
What’s most important to Brown is that readers walk away from The Bitterness of Olives with empathy for ordinary, flawed characters living amid horrific armed conflict that has no end in sight.
Q Given the complexity of the Israel-Hamas war, what challenges did you face writing the novel?
A
There is talk in the novel of the third intifada. Little did I know what was in store. I was extremely concerned that the book would be contested or considered irrelevant, as real events overtook the story. To watch the news — the scenes of horror, the mounting death toll, the sheer inexorable destruction — is overwhelming and leads to hopelessness.
Perhaps the book has been timely in that regard, because many readers have commented that it gave them a human perspective on the tragedy of war. My hope is that it can contribute in some way to easing the aggressive polarity and irrationality of debate about the conflict.
How did you ensure that Khalid and Ravi are representative of their cultures while also being relatable as individuals?
The story is really about the similarities between people rather than their differences. The three main characters — Avi, Khalid and Adara — could not come from more divergent backgrounds and experiences, yet they have much more in common than what separates them. Because the book is about individuals — rather than politics — the characters had to be fully developed and believable. I spent time describing their backstories, explaining their emotions, and making sure that their humanity came through strongly.
What inspired you to study the friendship between a Palestinian and an Israeli?
Adara is the key to that question; I was keen to explore how, in less than 100 years, we have deteriorated from a society where Jews and Arabs could live together peacefully as they once did in Iraq, to where we are now. Avi and Khalid are examples of two people caught in a world that cannot tolerate their friendship, and where their future seems doomed.
Has your conversion to Judaism influenced the novel’s key themes?
Most certainly, yes. Authors often have to ask whose stories they are entitled to tell. I have written about topics and places far removed from my personal reality, because I believe that so long as we write with integrity and sensitivity, we can tell any and all stories. But being Jewish myself certainly made me more interested and more comfortable with the idea of exploring a story set in Palestine.
The narrative moves between present and past. Why did you choose this structure?
It explores and, to some extent, seeks to explain the history of this profoundly complex conflict. Adara’s history and her experiences as a Jewish child in Iraq are fundamental to that exploration. It’s her story that brings Avi and Khalid back together; it’s her story that explains the occupation, the creation of Gaza, and the intolerable situation Palestinians find themselves in. Without that, the narrative would lack depth and integrity. Can you elaborate on your
research process?
I spent time interviewing people in Israel and the occupied West Bank and observing their daily lives. My attempts to enter Gaza were unsuccessful it is the world’s largest open-air prison and there is no getting in or out. I was marched out of the only border post and then chased away from the surrounding military border. That forced me to rely on reading as much as I could about life in the city and talking to Palestinians about their experiences under Israeli occupation.
I also spent time in Lod —a Palestinian town named Lydda that was occupied by Zionists, its residents expelled to the Gaza Strip and in the illegal Israeli settlements in the West
Bank. Most interesting of all, were my discussions with a Palestinian olive farmer in a small village surrounded by illegal settlements in the West Bank. Part of why I write is because I enjoy the research immensely.
There’s mention of forbidden love. How does this play into the broader narrative?
Avi’s work and the security structure in which he operates forbid his friendship with Khalid. Similarly, Adara’s choices are not tolerated by her culture; she is forced to choose between her Zionist community and her love for a Palestinian man. She makes a brave decision, while Avi is less courageous. In time, he comes to realise that the path of least resistance has been a betrayal of all that he holds dear.
One review suggested that readers looking for insight into the conflict won’t find it in your novel.
The book is by no means intended to “unpack” the Middle East or the current battle. As a work of fiction, it’s a human story that seeks to offer some insight into the different pressures and motivations at work in this crisis. Israelis go to the beach and eat ice cream, worry about their taxes, complain about work, look forward to a holiday.
They are not “bad people”, but as a nation they have enabled a system of oppression that is indefensible. It’s fascinating how ordinary people can be complicit in terrible crimes. Rwanda (about which Brown wrote in Inyenzi in 2010) is just one horrific example that saw ordinary Hutus actively participating in the Tutsi genocide. But for most of us, inaction is the evil. Avi is a good person but has lived in Israel his entire life and cannot see a way out of the fear and loathing that
grips his country.
What is your “favourite” excerpt from the book?
“And certainty was surely the poison of the world. If you thought you knew the outcome, why bother to undertake the journey at all? Conviction was the absence of thought.
The dearth of alternate perspective. Truth, on the other hand, was ambivalent, he found. Though rarely gentle, it was elusive and precious. Once captured, it must be held in the palm of two hands, protected as if in prayer, coloured like butterfly wings that can at any moment be buffeted by bluster.”
As an advocate of the high court, how do you make time to write and is there a new idea brewing?
Every time I see a book published with my name on it, it feels as though someone else did the writing. I scratch my head and try to work out how I managed it and agree that I will never do it again. The very idea of starting something new is exhausting. But I also know that I love the words, the stories, the slow unfolding of the magic that is writing. So I will probably put pen to paper once more. But for now, I believe the best I can hope to achieve has been brought to life.
I CONTRIBUTE HOPE IT CAN TO EASING THE AGGRESSIVE POLARITY AND IRRATIONALITY OF DEBATE
THEY ARE NOT ‘BAD PEOPLE’, BUT AS A NATION THEY HAVE ENABLED A SYSTEM OF OPPRESSION THAT IS INDEFENSIBLE